She released a relieved breath, ignored his Scroogyness, and reached for a towel. “It’s easier to frost a cake when it’s cool. Lori knows almost as much as I do when it comes to baking.”
“Is that what you’re doing today? Frosting cakes?” he called from the bedroom.
She towel-dried her hair, then twisted it into a damp bun. “It’s what we’re doing today,” she answered, making sure to add a touch of vixen to her tone.
“We?” he bit out.
“Yes, Mr. Best Man, my sister and the Abbotts are spending the day in the village. There’s ice skating and all sorts of activities to do there while we work on the wedding cake.”
He groaned. “The wedding isn’t until Christmas Eve. That’s three days away!”
“Right, and I need to make sure the cake is ready. Plus, I’m preparing a croquembouche for the rehearsal dinner, and that’s no small feat. So, we have to get the wedding cake done a couple of days early,” she answered, wrapping a towel around her body.
“Croak-um-what?” he exclaimed.
“It’s a French dessert, and it’s on the schedule. Now, open my bag and hand me my bra, a pair of panties, my black leggings, and the red flannel shirt dress.”
“You want me to get into your bag?” he griped.
Touchy, touchy!
“What else are you doing?” she threw back.
“Fine!” he huffed.
She tightened the towel and peeked out the half-opened door and found him holding up two of her G-strings, one black and one red.
“What are you doing with my underwear?”
“I’m deciding which ones match the bra,” he answered.
“Just pick a pair!” she snapped.
“I don’t spend a lot of time picking out women’s undergarments. I’m more of a rip-them-off kind of guy.”
She knew that.
“Go with the black,” she said, waving for him to hurry the hell up.
“No, red,” he countered, gathering the items she’d requested.
She pinned him with her gaze. “Are we going to fight about everything?”
“Don’t you like fighting with me?” he answered, handing her the pile of clothing.
She channeled her make-believe vixen. “I’d like it if you got on board with this wedding.”
“What have I actually done to hamper this wedding?” he threw back.
That was easy.
She narrowed her gaze. “Hookers.”
His lips curled into an amused, surly expression. “They were dancers. What besides that?”
She racked her brain. “Nothing I can think of off the top of my head. And that’s how it’s going to stay because—”
“Because you’re not letting me out of your sight,” he finished.
She dressed, then left the bathroom to find her boots. “Exactly.”
“You look nice,” he said, then crossed his arms then looked away as if he regretted paying her a compliment.
She tucked a damp lock of hair behind her ear, suddenly feeling exposed—no, not exposed, seen.
“Thank you.”
Whatever this was, it boomeranged between loathing, tenderness, and straight-up animal attraction. The buzz from going toe to toe with him made her head spin. It gave her a feisty sharpness as if she really were a vixen.
But she wasn’t. A lifetime of settling and playing it safe proved that.
She had to endure him for a few days, and then what? There wasn’t a future for them.
A knock on their suite door knocked her back into reality.
She put on her coat and grabbed her bag as Soren opened the door. He glanced back at her, then hurried into the hall to speak to whoever was there.
She followed him out. “What’s going on?”
“Hey, bird lady, I wanted to check on you and apologize about the gummies.”
Ah, Tanner, the drug dealer.
“You can’t leave those things lying around like that. What if one of the children found them?” she chided.
He hung his head with a sad, puppy dog nod. “You’re right.”
“Who eats those things around here anyway?” she asked as the trio walked down the hall and entered the main room.
“The retired Santas and Mrs. Clauses,” he announced proudly.
“They do?”
“Totally! Imagine spending like forty years of your life being a Santa and Mrs. Claus at a mall in Sheboygan. You’d want to chill out in retirement, too.”
Soren met her gaze. “The kid’s got a point.”
“So, Kringle is now a town with a bunch of stoned Mr. and Mrs. Clauses?” she queried.
“No, they don’t get blitzed and go all mental like you did. They eat one or two to take the edge off.”
Blitzed like you? How about unintentionally drugged?
She rubbed her temples. The shower had helped quell her pounding head, but talking to Tanner reignited her throbbing frontal lobe.